Slash and Burn
by fictitiousburn
Summary: There must be absolute destruction before there is absolute healing. Azula lets her ghosts guide her through the healing process (an Azula-centric fic)
1. destruction of the phoenix (king)

**slash and burn,** a **poetic anthology** on recovery  
**warning:** use of coarse language, sexual situations, and adult themes

i must destroy myself

because you have made me this hellion  
this monster consumed by its own fire  
feeding itself from the inside and  
destroying everything from the outside

because you have made me this succubus  
descending onto my victim with an eerie grace  
with subtle absolution and inevitable collapse  
i am nothing more than what you have made me

i must destroy myself  
for i am an extension of you  
the way a flaming whip extends from your hands  
the way my desire to please extends from your creation

i must destroy myself  
for i am nothing more than what you have made me  
the ashes of myself you have used to reshape me

i must destroy myself

because you have made me this demon  
this spirit that inhabits and feeds off of the pain  
in possession of an insidious, malevolent heart  
finding a dependency on crushing others underneath me

because you have made me this woman  
shaped from the wiles of a teenaged daughter  
formed into a powerful and obedient mistress  
i am nothing more than what you have made me

i must destroy myself as you destroyed me  
i must destroy myself to be reborn (as you rebirthed me)

i must destroy myself  
for i am nothing more than what you have made me  
and i hate you

azula cries because of the realization and from the relief, trickling down her face like a dark, velvety sheet caressing her cheeks. she is chained to the ground, brought to her knees, and she feels like she has for the past thirteen years—like a trapped animal waiting to be freed, waiting to be raised or slaughtered or raised for the slaughter or raised _to_ slaughter. her head bows and her hair drips like dark water over her head. she cries at the shadow of her older brother, angry at what he has taken and at how he got away. he wasn't banished— _he left her_—and she was defenseless, succumbing to everything just to be loved the way that her mother loved her brother. but even she knows that the touches, the responsibility, the relationship with her father is love in a different way, love in a wrong way.

* * *

**notes: **exploring the new head canon i have been spotting in my rewatch of the series that alludes to an incestual relationship between ozai and azula, set at the end of a:tla. i doubt you'll have to believe that to enjoy the story, but nevertheless, we move on. i've decided to mix the poetry in with a drabble so it'll be in the range of 300 to 500 words. i also capitalized as i saw fit because of the poetic aspect.


	2. everything he taught me (was a lie)

**slash and burn,** a **poetic anthology** on recovery  
**warning:** use of coarse language, sexual situations, and adult themes

That Woman has a name, she glares at Her avidly, but azula hates Her and refuses to use it.

azula hates This Woman for making her remember. she hates Her for faulting azula, like she could have controlled her need to be perfect, her need to elicit pride in her father, to gain his respect and his attention. she hates Her for making her remember the gentle pats on her back and the way that his whispers of encouragement make her entire body shiver with pleasure. it starts innocently enough. then azula is forced to remember the first night ozai walks into her room, his calloused hand patting her back and his whispering in her ear _and she _hates _This Woman_ for making her remember. it is not therapeutical, she screams, it is not. and she refuses to talk any further about it. she sinks into her bed and ignores the rest of Her questions about her father as the visions of his hands on her bare skin blaze across her mind, and suddenly a wildfire is breaking out and she screams, i don't resent my mother for leaving me. she stares at The Woman and says in a broken voice: i resent my mother for calling me a monster when _he_ was the monster and i needed her to save me from him.

he taught me that bending is more than control  
it is an inflammable harness on unlimited power  
the way that his hands harnessed the power of my body  
the way that he harnessed my desire to please him in everything  
(everything including this all-consuming wild fire of immoral behavior)

he taught me that bending is more than fire  
it is determining an accelerant to pour over it  
the way the threat of failure accelerated it  
the way that your disregard of blood accelerated it  
(it being the way you closed your eyes as you leaned over me in the dark)

according to him, bending is manipulation of all variables  
it is controlling that which should not be under control  
(but giving no respect to the flame, no respect to me)  
it is stoking the fire to just the right amount  
(adding fuel, giving incentive to succumb to pressure)  
it is taking advantage  
(of the embers, of my body)  
it is in clear defiance of the laws of the world  
(and yet he taught me to bend fire, and yet he lay his claim to me)

when That Woman starts to walk out of her room, azula whispers faintly that she will never, ever firebend the way that her father taught her. he was wrong about everything. azula hates That Woman and hates that She smiles when She hears her promise.

* * *

**notes:** i hope the capitalization doesn't bother you, but i wrote this by hand first and i liked it better this way. forgive me!


	3. the dark that i know well

**slash and burn,** a **poetic anthology** on recovery  
**warning:** use of coarse language, sexual situations, and adult themes

how do i begin?  
irrevocably broken  
when trying to heal

i will never talk  
about his hands on my thighs  
and lies in my head

how can i be fixed?  
i can't even let this go  
too weak to repair

in my room at night  
i expect an intruder  
although i am safe

it's just you and i  
you whisper against my neck  
i lay still and breathe

mother doesn't know  
i am a better woman  
than her, you tell me

i rise when you rise  
ascending through this abuse  
when i fail, i fall

your prodigal child  
you use me until i'm empty  
your shell of an heir

full of worthlessness  
full of hate, lies, insanity  
how can i be whole?


End file.
